Case 6267: Fidget's Christmas
by Shelly Lane
Summary: Fidget narrates the "Great Mouse Detective" version of "A Christmas Carol." Dickens and Disney own everything.
1. December 19, 1897

**December 19, 1897**

I was caught off guard when I felt handcuffs tighten around my wrists. I hadn't even heard anyone come up behind me.

"Who's there? Am I under arrest? What did I do?" I asked.

The constable made no reply.

"You can't just come up to someone and arrest them for no reason!" I protested. "If this is about what happened last June, I've already stood trial for it!"

He continued to ignore me.

"Where's your holiday spirit? It's almost Christmas! I don't want to spend Christmas in jail! Why are you doing this to me?"

He kept silent and continued to lead me away.

"Hey! Where are we going? This isn't the way to jail! Where are you taking me?"

He knocked on the door of someone's home. I was surprised when Basil of Baker Street answered.

The constable began, "Detective, this is hardly the way to invite guests to visit you. Furthermore, you are supposed to find evidence, and I am supposed to escort prisoners to jail. Arresting someone for no reason and bringing them to your home is not…"

"There now. It's quite alright," Basil interrupted. "You can release him."

The constable removed my handcuffs. "You'd better have a good reason for asking me to bring him here like this, Basil."

"But of course, my good fellow!"

The sleuth told me to come inside, and I did.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here," he stated.

I nodded.

"My associate would like a word with you," Basil explained. "He's not here at the moment, but he should return shortly."

"That ugly, plump idiot?"

"Precisely!" He lit his pipe and added in a dangerously quiet tone. "Mark my words, Fidget. If you give him any trouble, I shall find enough evidence to see you imprisoned for life, even if I must invent false charges! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

I gasped. "You wouldn't!"

He glared at me. "I most certainly would."

I kept silent. Even though I was sure he was bluffing, I decided not to press the matter.

"Do you understand me, Fidget?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

The door opened, and Basil's companion stepped in. His arms were filled with boxes, and he was gasping for air.

"Did you enjoy your errand, Dawson?" Basil asked casually.

Dawson set the boxes on the floor. "I must say it's rather tiring shopping for Yuletide gifts!"

"You should have avoided the holiday rush," advised Basil. "I always do."

"How?""

"Elementary, my dear Dawson! I make my purchases earlier in the year!"

"How early, Basil?"

"September."

"September?"

"Indeed! September is simply ideal for preparing for the holiday season! I once bought Christmas presents in August, but I found it far too long to conceal items without anyone detecting them. I next tried October, but I'm afraid the gift selection in stores wasn't as desirable as it is in September."

Dawson shook his head. "Only you would perfect holiday shopping to a science!"

"To an _art_, Doctor," Basil corrected.

"We've known each other since June. Why didn't you advise me to do my shopping in September?"

"I did. You laughed and dismissed the idea as a joke. Don't you remember?" After a pause, he added, "Cheer up, old chap! I got you something too!"

"Did you now?"

"I surely did! I bought you a special pair of shoes to wear the next time you're tempted to dance with the ladies at the Rat Trap. The shoes are extremely comfortable, ideal for bar dancing!"

Dawson crossed his arms. "I wasn't the only one to make a mistake that evening, Basil!"

The great mouse detective changed the subject. "As you can see, I had Fidget brought here. He's ready to speak with you!"

Basil's partner turned to me and smiled. "Do you know what I do for a living?"

"You're a surgeon," I answered.

"The finest surgeon in Mousedom!" Basil added. "I've seen him save lives when I thought surely it was too late for the hapless souls!"

"Elementary, my dear Basil," Dawson nonchalantly replied.

Basil rolled his eyes. "Hardly humorous, Dawson."

The detective's assistant addressed me again. "Do you know I've operated on some patients who were in a worse condition than you are, and they regained full use of their previously injured limbs?"

"You're saying you think you could fix my wing?" I asked.

"I'm sure of it," he responded.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Fidget, I'd like to help you fly again. Will you let me?"

"Surprise!" Basil exclaimed. "Now you know why I had you brought here! This is our gift to you! Merry Christmas!"

I scowled. "You're both pitiless! Even Ratigan would never have played a joke this cruel!"

"I'm not joking," Basil argued. "Are you, Dawson?"

"Not at all!" the doctor replied.

"You don't mean it! You wouldn't really…!" I couldn't finish

They nodded.

"When do you want to do the surgery?" I asked.

"If we did it today, you'd have enough time to recover that you could be home by Christmas," Dawson pointed out. "You'd just have to take it easy for a while, and of course I'd visit you from time to time so I could make sure of your complete recovery."

"What have you got to lose?" Basil asked. "Do you give him consent to take care of you?"

My voice was barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"Excellent!" The detective rested his hand on my shoulder. "You won't be sorry, Fidget! I guarantee it!"

"Why are you doing this?"

"One of the queen's guards put in a good word for you last Christmas," Basil explained.

I remembered it all too well. Christmas of 1896 had been quite an adventure. More accurately, it had been quite a _misadventure_. No one could ever guess what Ratigan was plotting next, but that year he did something that surprised even his most loyal henchmen.


	2. December 19, 1896

**December 19, 1896**

"Dearest brothers, we are about to embark on an epic journey into the innermost regions of our souls to discover the true spirit of Christmas within our hearts." Ratigan paused to lift his cigarette holder to his lips. "In four days, it shall be Christmas Eve. That very evening, I shall inform all the little children that I have special gifts for them. When the come close enough to receive their presents, you shall all seize them and put them into this bag." He laughed maliciously. "Felicia shall enjoy a lavish Christmas feast the next day!"

We all cheered enthusiastically. The typical pattern was that after the professor explained his next scheme, we would sing his favorite song. However, this time he requested a Christmas carol.

"Any one in particular, boss?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter!" he responded. "Just as long as it gets my mind off that wretched Basil! I can't help but feel he's already plotting to ruin my perfect Christmas! He torments my slumber with nightmares, and I become paranoid! There's no escape from that miscreant! He sees me when I'm sleeping! He knows when I'm awake! He knows if I've been bad or good…!" The boss sighed.

"Try to relax, Professor," Bill replied. "We'll get your mind off him. You're too smart for him anyway!"

Ratigan smiled. "Thank you! Oh, by the way, can you sing something about bells? A lot of Christmas carols mention bells, and I just love songs like that!"

While the world's greatest criminal rat made himself comfortable and Bartholomew nearly drowned himself in wassail, we sang every carol we could think of and several we invented on the spot. The boss seemed amused, much to our relief. It was our job to do anything possible to keep him entertained, but this was not always an easy task. All was going well until somebody was dumb enough to visit.

Ratigan stormed to the door. "You knocked?"

The stranger tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, sir. I'm collecting for the poor. Would you care to make a contribution?"

The boss looked like he was about to explode. "You interrupted my Christmas to asks me to give to charity?" He suddenly became calm. "I'm always pleased to help feed the hungry! In fact, I think we should discuss this over dinner!" With that, he rang the bell.

We cowered, expecting Felicia to devour this generous visitor, but to our great surprise, she turned up her nose.

"What's wrong, darling?" Ratigan asked.

Felicia poked the stranger's ribs.

"He's too skinny for you?"

She meowed.

"What if we fattened him up for your first snack of the coming year? Would that work? Would he make a nice little treat at midnight to celebrate 1897?"

The cat licked her lips.

"Fidget!"

I stepped forward nervously. "Yes, boss?"

"Take him somewhere he won't be found, and make sure he can't escape. Give him plenty of food, and keep him from exercising. If he isn't ready by New Year's Eve, you'll replace him!"

"He'll be ready, sir," I promised.

From the way Felicia was looking at me, I got the feeling she wouldn't be too disappointed if she had to eat me instead of her intended victim. I knew I would take every precaution necessary to make sure I would not fail.

As I tied up the visitor, I suddenly felt uneasy. Ordinarily, I thoroughly enjoyed helping Ratigan get rid of others, but killing someone for trying to make Christmas better for the less fortunate didn't seem right. Ignoring my conscience was surprisingly difficult.

When I had finished my chore of capturing our visitor, I went to the Rat Trap for a bottle of Rodent's Delight. I hoped my favorite brandy would wash away my guilt. Three rounds later, it still hadn't worked. I bet I drank more than Bartholomew that day.

The next thing I knew, it was nearly evening, and I wasn't feeling so well. Looking around, I noticed I was in someone's house.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You drank too much and passed out in an alley," a man's voice explained. "I brought you here to recover."

"Your voice sounds familiar," I remarked.

"You might say we knew each other in another life. I was your colleague years ago. We were in Ratigan's gang together."

"Really? Now what do you do?"

"I stand guard at Buckingham Palace."

"I'm impressed! How'd you go from henchman to guard?"

"Never mind that!" he responded. "I'd rather discuss why you had so much liquor. I know you favor a little Rodent's Delight, but I've never known you to become drunk."

I told him all about Ratigan's plan to feed innocent children to the cat on Christmas and have the stranger killed the same way when the clock struck midnight to signal the new year.

"I thought you liked helping murder the innocent," the guard argued. "Why the change of heart?"

"The gentleman was collecting for the poor so they could have a good Christmas. It doesn't seem right for him to die. It also seems wrong to have the cat eat children on Christmas!" I answered.

"Be careful, Fidget. One would almost think you had a conscience somewhere. I think you turned evil because the pain in your broken wing makes you irritable, not to mention Professor Rat probably brainwashed you."

"Don't you mean 'Professor Ratigan'?"

"No. I meant his name like I said it." He put on his jacket. "I think you'd become a respectable citizen if you escaped the criminal mastermind's influence and had someone repair your wing. I'll mention it to Basil."

"You know Basil?" I asked.

"Of course! I'll explain later if there's time. Right now, I have to inform him of Ratigan's plot. My wife's visiting a friend at the moment, but she'll be home soon. When she returns, you'll have company, but if you steal so much as one item or destroy our flat while I'm gone, I guarantee I will ruin your life!"

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I didn't want to upset one of the queen's guards, especially one that had lived among criminals previously, so I vowed to be a gracious guest. I made sure to be extremely polite to my hostess and respect the lovely home she shared with my host. In fact, I even helped with housework.

"How's Bartholomew?" my hostess asked as we washed dishes.

"Drunk," I answered, drying a plate that she handed me.

She sighed. "That sewer rat ruined his life! Until Ratigan forced him to start drinking, Bart had never tasted liquor, and now he's a drunkard! I miss the Bartholomew I remember, the sober one!"

I didn't find out until months later that she was his sister.


	3. December 20, 1896

**December 20, 1896**

I ended up spending the night on their couch. Normally I rise early, but I must have slept in. I was just waking up as my host and hostess were preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

"Your heart was in the right place," the lady was telling her husband, "but did you have to bring Fidget into our home? He's not like us. He became Ratigan's favorite henchman for a reason!"

"But it's Christmas!" he argued.

"Not for another four days!" She changed the subject. "I used to be very disappointed that you and I never had any of our own children. I wanted so much to hear their laughter and see their smiles on Christmas. Now I'm glad we don't have any little ones."

"Why do you say that?"

"If Ratigan finds out that you and I are happy, he'll most likely kill us. He thinks we're in prison because of the trick we pulled in order to escape him. I've had a good life, so I really don't mind if he murders me, but I couldn't stand the grief if the criminal mastermind ever got his hands on any of my children!" After a pause, she added, "Don't you see? If we don't have any children, he can't harm them!"

"I despise that brute!" my host exclaimed

"Try not to despise him too much. By making us both work as his henchmen years ago, he brought us together. If it weren't for him, we would have never met. These past few years have been the best of my life!"

"Where's a sprig of mistletoe when you need it?"

There was a lull in their conversation as they continued to cook breakfast together.

"You're making more than enough food," the lady observed. "Are we going to have company?"

"I was going to tell you last night, but I guess I forgot," my host replied. "Basil will be paying us a visit this morning. He wishes to discuss the case."

"What case?"

"Fidget says Ratigan's plotting to slaughter children on Christmas and offer some philanthropist to Felicia as a New Year's snack. I didn't mean to get involved, but…"

"Our lives were saved once," she interrupted. "It's only right that we do what we can to save the lives of others."

I was beginning to figure things out. These two had worked for the boss long ago, and someone had managed to pull them out of the situation when the professor tried to kill them. Now they were good citizens with respectable jobs.

There was a knock on the door. To avoid troubling my host and hostess, I answered it for them. Basil stepped inside.

"What are you doing here, Fidget?" he asked.

"I found him in an alley last night," my host explained. "He was suffering from the effects of too much alcohol, and it didn't seem right to leave him there."

The detective nodded. "You've got a noble heart. Take care that you do not die of kindness."

"Breakfast will be ready in a couple minutes if you'd like to sit at the table," my hostess stated. "You too, Fidget."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." I took a seat.

Basil stared at me in disbelief. "Did you just use manners?"

During our meal, the sleuth pondered how he would stop the world's greatest criminal mind.

"Only three days!" my hostess commented. "I don't know how the dickens you'll ever manage!"

"What did you say?" inquired the investigator.

"Only that I'm sure you'll come up with an idea, but I'm not sure how you'll be able to do it," she replied.

"Repeat your exact words, if you don't mind."

"'I don't know how the dickens you'll ever manage.'"

"Ha!" Basil stood up triumphantly. "That is precisely how I'll manage!" He suddenly became serious. "I have my work cut out for me. I don't suppose you two would be willing to be of any assistance, would you?"

My host and hostess readily agreed.

Basil turned to me. "You're also going to help us, and you're not going to give us any trouble or inform Ratigan of our plans, or I shall personally let him know who was responsible for ruining his scheme."

By that, he meant me since I had been the one to confess the criminal mastermind's plot.

"I'll do whatever you say, and I won't tell the boss anything," I replied quickly.

"Excellent!" Basil exclaimed. "Now tell me everything you know about Ratigan's past, and be entirely honest! I cannot promise any pleasant consequences if you give me false information!"

At that time, I wasn't thinking about what the boss would say if he knew I couldn't remain silent during interrogation. The only thing on my mind was avoiding trouble with the professor's adversary. I told him everything he wanted to know.

Finally, the sleuth turned to my host. "Would you be willing to dress as a ruffian?"

"Of course."

Everything was ready by evening. Basil helped my host disguise himself, handcuffed him, and drooped chains over his shoulders.

"These shouldn't be too heavy. They're just made to look that way." Basil shackled my host's ankles. "Can you still walk?"

"Only very slowly," he replied.

"Perfect! Is any part of this plan unclear to you?"

"None."

"Excellent! I imagine Felicia's standing guard, but we can bribe her with catnip. Now let me whiten your face and hands. Have no fear; the paint will wash off easily."

As Ratigan slept that night, my host walked up to him. The sound of the chains rattling woke the rat.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

My host responded, "Don't you recognize me? I was one of your favorites, your best henchman!"

The professor gasped. Then he suddenly regained his composure. "I don't believe in ghosts! I must be having a nightmare."

"Beware!" my host exclaimed. "I was terrified when you rang the bell, but I thought after Felicia had swallowed me, my troubles would end! I was wrong! Death is only the beginning!"

The boss was too proud to show his fright. "What do you want?"

"Do not think that by avoiding arrest in this life that you will escape consequences in the next! These are the chains I earned throughout my lifetime by committing misdeeds. Your chains are heavier than mine will ever be! Remember the Big Ben Caper, the Tower Bridge Job, the widows and orphans you drowned, Felicia's victims…!"

"Enough!" interrupted Ratigan. "Why have you come?"

"Until I upset you, we were close friends! It is too late for me! I must wear these chains for eternity! To add to my punishment, I am forced to watch others enjoy the happiness I can never feel!"

"I'm sorry for you." The professor almost sounded like he meant his sentiments.

"It is too late for me!" my host repeated. "It is not too late for you! You will be visited by three spirits this week. Heed their words and reform your ways, or you shall be doomed until the end of time!"

"I thank you for your warning. I will do as they say."

"Goodbye, boss!"

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Did you feel much pain when Felicia ate you?"

"Less than I feel from these chains!"

My host slowly left the room and walked down the street, turning down the alley where we were waiting.

"Fine job!" complimented Basil, removing the chains. "Ratigan should have insomnia for a month!"


	4. December 21, 1896

**December 21, 1896**

"Where were you?"

"I celebrated the holidays too much!" I answered. "I had so much Rodent's Delight that I got locked in jail until I became sober!"

"I see," Ratigan answered. "Have you been taking lessons from Bartholomew?"

Bill took me aside. "You'll have to excuse the boss. He didn't sleep well last night."

"Really?" I asked.

"The ghost of someone told him to reform his ways. If the professor doesn't change, he's going to have to carry heavy chains for eternity!"

It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

"I personally think he was dreaming, but he thinks he was awake. It's really bothering him. He's very temperamental today, but he doesn't dare ring the bell when there are ghosts around!"

None of us dared make fun of him within his hearing, but among ourselves, we made endless jokes at the boss's expense.

"How much champagne did he have last night?" Bill asked. "Or maybe Robert hit him on the head!"

Robert rested his club on the palm of his hand. "Even I'm not good enough to do damage to someone with a skull that thick!"

"Maybe if the ghosts make him wear chains, they'll tie little bells on them!" Lewis put in. "The professor would like that!"

"I know what's happening!" exclaimed Henry. "The guilt is getting to him!"

We all put our hands over our mouths so the professor wouldn't hear us laughing hysterically. However, I doubt he would have noticed. He was too busy changing his locks and making sure his gemstones were all safe.

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone?" he asked us repeatedly.

He even had a word with Felicia. "Why didn't you alert me? You are supposed to guard me with your life! Your job is to…but of course you couldn't have done anything. It was a ghost. What are we going to do, my sweetheart?"

"Here boss. This will make you feel better." I handed him a glass of his favorite champagne, omitting the information that Basil had given me a special powder to put in the drink to make Ratigan drowsy.

"Thank you, Fidget." He drained his glass.

I felt bad going against my own boss, but it couldn't be helped. After the professor went home to take a nap, I met Basil at the appointed place. The detective was surrounded by several children and a few adults.

"Is he asleep, Fidget?" the sleuth queried.

"He will be shortly," I replied.

"Do you children remember what you're supposed to do?"

"Yes, Mr. Basil," they answered.

"And you, Mrs. Judson?"

An elderly woman crossed her arms. "I'd better get a holiday bonus for this!"

"I give my word it shall be done. Now, if you'll all be so kind as to go to your places, I believe everything is ready."

Disguised beyond recognition, Mrs. Judson threw Felicia some catnip and tuna. With the cat distracted, she slipped into Ratigan's home through a window since the doors were locked. Having been ordered to remain at the lair and guard the jewels, none of the other thugs were around.

Mrs. Judson stood right by his bed. "Padraic Ratigan!"

The boss looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "You just woke me up from a sound sleep! Who are you? What do you want? How do I make you leave?"

"I am the Spirit of Christmas Past!"

"You're one of those pathetic ghosts?"

"There's nothing pathetic about Christmas."

Ratigan rested the tips of his fingers on his forehead. "You had better be a ghost because if you're not, I'll have the police arrest you for breaking and entering!"

"You'd hire Basil to find me for the police, wouldn't you?"

The bell Ratigan kept by his bed was thrown across the room. It missed Mrs. Judson, but the candle didn't.

"Such a temper!" she chided. "If the candle had been lit, you might have burned down your own home, and see how you have so carelessly discarded the source of your power!" She held up the bell.

"Never again mention the name of my nemesis!" the boss shouted.

"Oh! Your nemesis! Remember when he was your best friend?"

"I recall no such thing!" He threw a pillow.

"Let me see if I can refresh your memory. Come with me."

"If I do as you say, will you leave me in peace?" the professor demanded.

"I will."

"Very well. Let's get this over with!"

"But you have to be blindfolded."

The boss was obviously getting tired of this, but he allowed Mrs. Judson to blindfold him. She led him to where the children were playing.

"We are in the past now, Padraic."

"Ratigan!" the boss corrected. "I always go by my last name."

She removed his blindfold. "Do you recognize anyone?"

The children were all dressed just like we always were back when we were their age. Exhausted from troubled sleep, the boss believed the ruse.

"That's me!" He gestured to where a rat child was sitting next to a young mouse.

"…And then Holmes said, 'Take him away!' and the police took the criminal to jail!" the mouse told the rat.

"Amazing story!" the young rat complimented.

"Thank you, Padraic."

"Sherlock Holmes sounds intelligent for a human."

"Oh, he is! And I want to be just like him someday!"

"You'd be the greatest detective in all Mousedom!"

"You really think so?" the mouse youth asked eagerly.

"Of course!" replied the juvenile rat. "No criminals would want Detective Basil on their case!"

The mouse grinned. "I hope I bring them all to justice!"

A bunch of other young mice surrounded them.

"Why are you talking to an ugly rat?" one demanded.

"He's my friend," replied the child dressed like Basil.

"But he's a sewer rat!" argued a third mouse child.

"No he's not!"

"Rats are enemies!" a fourth juvenile mouse added.

"I'd rather be his enemy than your friend!"

Mrs. Judson turned to Ratigan. "He was a good friend to you, wasn't he? More loyal than any of your henchmen will ever be."

The look of sorrow that momentarily crossed the professor's face looked genuine. He would never admit it, but he was lost in regrets of what might have been if only he had never yielded to the temptation to turn criminal.

"Do you recognize them?" she asked.

Ratigan looked where Mrs. Judson pointed. A lizard child and a young bat were talking.

"You sure seem to enjoy flying!" the lizard remarked.

"It's the only way I get accepted," the bat explained. "Everyone used to make fun of me because they thought I was hideous, but now they envy me because I can fly."

"It's Fidget!" the boss exclaimed. "And that's Bill!"

Mrs. Judson gestured to another group of children. "And them?"

"That's Bartholomew! Those must be his sisters!" He laughed. "They're making him style their hair!" Ratigan sighed. "When I see how happy they are as a family, I almost regret…" He didn't finish.

"Come. There's more to see." She blindfolded him again and took him to where two adult rats were waiting.

As soon as his blindfold was removed, Ratigan gasped. "That's me when I was a just starting to become a criminal!"

It was actually someone else dressed like him, but no one told him as much. This guy was standing next to a lady dressed like the boss's former girlfriend.

"You truly are a criminal!" the lady complained. "First you decided to steal my heart, and now you have killed my happiness!"

The man pretending to be the younger version of Ratigan knelt. "I love you more than my own life! How could you doubt that?"

"Yesterday was our wedding day! I was in a beautiful gown at the church, and everything was beautiful and perfect! I walked down the aisle, and you weren't there! You were too busy planning a heist to marry me! You don't love me anymore!"

Mrs. Judson turned to the boss. "Do you remember why you named your cat 'Felicia'?"

Ratigan nodded. "That was the name of the woman I loved. I started wearing a tuxedo every day in case the love of my life ever forgave me and wanted to get married."

"You hate children so much because they remind you of the family you will never have. Is that not correct?" Mrs. Judson asked.

"It is." The professor sighed. "Speaking of my cat, I was cruel to her when she was a kitten. Maybe she would have been more willing to obey if I had earned her respect instead of instilling fear."

Mrs. Judson blindfolded him and took him back to his own home.


	5. December 22, 1896

**December 22, 1896**

By the time the boss returned home on December 21, it was nearly evening. He went to bed early and slept in late the next morning.

Basil paid the actors he had hired, and he gave Mrs. Judson a very generous holiday bonus for agreeing to dress as the Spirit of Christmas Past. When Ratigan went home for lunch, Basil came to the lair. Needless to say, my fellow villains were shocked.

"What are you doing here?" Bill demanded.

"How'd you all like the chance to play a cruel joke on your boss?" the sleuth asked.

That got their attention.

"All you have to do is pretend to have a Christmas party here."

Everyone agreed that the idea sounded easy enough.

Basil went outside. "Felicia? Are you there?"

Ratigan's pet monster meowed.

"I would wager that you'd fancy a bit of herring this evening."

She meowed again.

"And perhaps some sardines."

Felicia almost started purring.

"In fact, how would you like all the fish you can eat? All you have to do is pretend to be friends with Toby for a few minutes, and you can have all the fish you want. Do we have a bargain?"

She stared at him.

Basil extended his hand. "Well? Shall we shake on the deal?"

Very gently, she placed her paw on top of his hand.

"You see! I knew Ratigan was wrong about you! I knew you would listen to reason!"

When Ratigan went to bed that night, he made sure to lock his doors and close his windows. Basil merely picked one of the locks. Disguised as the Spirit of Christmas Present, the lady who had been my hostess entered the house.

"Mr. Basil," she whispered, "is it legal for us to keep sneaking into his home like this?"

"It's necessary in order to save lives. The law will forgive us," replied the detective.

My hostess nodded and crept into Ratigan's room as Basil quietly slipped away. She called the criminal's name.

He sat up. "Not another one!"

"I am the Spirit of Christmas Present!"

The professor smiled. "I love Christmas presents!"

"Spare me your idiotic puns, and let's move!"

He frowned. "You're not nearly as sophisticated as the other ghosts. Are you the dimwit of the bunch?"

"I have a gun, and you have three seconds to…!"

"What? None of the others threatened me." He got up and put on his slippers. "I must be having a nightmare!"

Since she didn't have to fool him into believing they were time traveling, no blindfold was necessary as she led him to the lair. We pretended like we couldn't see either of them as we had our party.

"Would you like some more eggnog, Bartholomew?" Bill offered. "Wait. You've already had too much."

"Since when has that ever stopped him?" I answered.

Everyone laughed.

"What would you like most for Christmas, Fidget?" Lewis asked.

"Not saying!" I responded.

This was met by a chorus of protests. Everyone begged me to tell my strongest desire.

"You'll think it's silly!" I replied.

"Come on! Tell us!" Henry insisted.

I sighed. "I want to fly. I'd give anything if I could find a doctor who would operate on my wing. Not being able to fly is more than just losing my freedom. It's like losing my identity. I like all of you, but I'm not a mouse. I'm a bat. Bats are supposed to fly. Bill can still act like a lizard, but I can't act like a bat. I'm being cheated."

"Why can't you get a doctor?" Robert asked.

"All the ones good enough to operate on my wing are too expensive. All the ones I can afford are the kind I wouldn't trust to help me recover from a cold."

"Well, you're right about one thing," Henry began. "You're certainly not a bat, Fidget. I think he looks more like a rat!"

"Not at all! He's a big mouse!" argued Lewis.

They put me on their shoulders and spun me around like I was the boss. Everyone laughed, even though we were all extremely nervous since the boss was watching us do this. I had to keep reminding myself he'd dismiss it as a dream.

The professor scowled. "Why don't my men ever invite me to their Christmas parties?"

"They fear your wrath," my hostess explained. "The party wouldn't be any fun for them if their lives were in danger!"

He sighed. "I suppose you have a point."

"Come. I have something else to show you."

She led him to where Toby and Felicia were sitting together.

Ratigan gasped. "What? My cat and Basil's dog are friends?"

"Everyone is friends on Christmas," she answered.

He ran back inside. "Fidget! Take this! It will pay for your operation!" He tossed a ruby at me.

I pretended like I didn't notice he had thrown it.

"No! You have to know I'm here! Take it! You can get the finest doctor in London!" He threw it again.

It was getting harder to ignore the gift, but I knew doing so would ruin the plan. Ratigan had to believe he wasn't actually standing before us.

He tried his luck with Bartholomew. "Don't drink so much! Alcohol has taken control of your life! You need to drink less! No one should be drunk all the time!"

Bartholomew was too drunk to do anything but help himself to more cider.

The professor turned to my hostess. "Take me back home. I am of no use here. I have no place among them, even though they are my own henchmen."


	6. December 23, 1896

**December 23, 1896**

"Did I try to give you a ruby last night, Fidget?"

"No! Sure didn't! Why would you do something like that?"

The boss sighed and buried his face in his hands. "I've been having horrible dreams the past few nights! Where did you put Felicia's victim for the coming year?"

I told him where to find the gentleman, who was very surprised to see Ratigan enter the room.

"Has the day of my execution arrived already?" the prisoner asked. "I must have lost track of time. I thought it was still a couple days before Christmas."

"It's December 23, you idiot!" the boss responded. "Listen carefully. I am going to release you, but you are not going to tell anyone because rumors that I do good deeds would ruin my reputation as the world's greatest criminal mind! Furthermore, you are going to get my Felicia some nice Christmas presents and something delicious to eat since she won't get to devour you. Is any part of this unclear?"

"Nothing is unclear, Professor. I'll have everything ready by this evening."

"Fine! After you bring it here, you must never set foot anywhere near my lair again!"

"It shall be as you say."

Everything went according to Ratigan's plan. At the end of the day, he left the lair and went home, only to find a figure in a dark cloak waiting on his porch.

"Are you the Spirit of Christmas Future?" the boss asked.

The figure nodded.

"I am ready to follow you and learn."

The figure silently led him to the cemetery and pointed to a headstone.

Ratigan gasped as he read the name. "Not my Felicia! My cat is the closest thing to a friend I have right now! I wasted all my other chances at friendship!" He sank to his knees. "Not her!"

The figure tapped him on the shoulder.

"You have something else to show me. Is that it?"

The figure pointed at another tombstone.

"My grave! No! It says 'Prof. Rat.'! Future generations won't understand that it's short for 'Professor Ratigan'! People in the twenty-first century will still call me a sewer rat!"

Ratigan knelt before the figure. "Spirit, I can change! Promise me that these things will not come to be, and I'll reform my ways!"

The figure dismissed him with a wave of its hand.

"Oh, thank you, Spirit!" With that, the boss ran home.

Basil threw off his black cloak and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing as he removed the fake gravestones. He knew he had outwitted the professor. Now that he had completed his mission, he explained a few things to the rest of us.

He told us that he hadn't dressed as either of the other spirits because Ratigan would have recognized his voice. He then stated that he had spaced the visits out over the course of a few days rather than all in the same night because it would have been impossible to have everything ready at the same time.

"Fidget, I know you took a terrible risk plotting against your boss," he concluded. "If you ever reform your ways, I promise you will have the operation you need to be able to fly again."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll ever turn good," I answered. "I'm too far gone."

My host shook hands with me. "It was good seeing you under favorable circumstances, Fidget. I much preferred your company the last couple days than I did when we were both henchmen. Now if you'll pardon me, I have to return home. I have guard duty tomorrow, and Her Majesty would be rather upset if I were to be late."

My hostess waved goodbye as she walked home with my host. I returned to my flat. It was good to be back at my own place again after staying with former co-workers or just remaining at the lair to sleep since I was kept so busy every evening.

There was nothing left to do but wait and see if Basil's plan to reform the boss would work or if the professor would still murder the innocent children on Christmas.


	7. December 24, 1896

**December 24, 1896**

"No more of this!"

Those were the first words Ratigan spoke as he entered the lair. He sat down in his favorite chair and explained that due to circumstances beyond his control, we would no longer be capturing children for Felicia's Christmas dinner.

"Find something else to do! Surely you can think of another way to spend your evening!" the boss concluded. "I have to go shopping for a few gifts." After a brief pause, he added. "Wait! All of you come back to the lair this evening, just like we originally planned, but this time, it won't be to kill anyone! I have a better idea!"

I spent the day visiting family members. It wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, but it was better than nothing. When I returned to the lair, I was surprised to see Ratigan had invited Basil to visit us.

"Now remember, you're not going to arrest anyone, and none of us are going to cause you any trouble," Ratigan stated.

"Agreed." Basil lit his pipe.

"Fidget!" The professor actually hugged me. "You're back! Oh, I was hoping you would come! We're all going to share a meal together like a family! Basil helped me find enough food and presents for everyone, and I haven't told you the best news of all! Some of the royal guards are coming! I want everyone to feel welcome at my lair." He frowned. "'Lair' is too harsh of a word! I'm not a criminal anymore!"

None of us could believe what we were hearing, but the guards actually showed up. The man who had been my host was among them. He had brought his wife with him.

Surprisingly, Bartholomew was sober. When he saw my former hostess, he ran to her and embraced her.

"You know me?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course!" he whispered. "You're my sister, my only living family member!"

She blinked rapidly as she hugged him. "You're usually too drunk to remember I exist!" she said under her breath. "To have you recognize me…!" She made no effort to hide her tears of joy. "I couldn't ask for a better Christmas gift."

"Is there a problem?" Ratigan asked, graciously offering Bartholomew's sister a handkerchief.

"Of course not!" she replied, drying her eyes.

"You two know each other?" he inquired.

"Not at all!" Bartholomew lied. "It's just not often that we have such lovely company!"

It was smart of him to conceal the truth. Even though Ratigan was acting more like a gentleman than a scoundrel, he was still a criminal mastermind. No one fully trusted him.

During our meal, Bartholomew had too much to drink, as usual. He got to the point where he no longer recognized any of us or his own sister. However, everyone was still happy.

After dinner, Ratigan passed out presents. He gave us a lot of new weapons, extra money, and some of his favorite liquor. The boss even offered everybody a cigarette. We all thanked him. My present was an ugly scarf, but Ratigan was so proud of it.

"A very special gift for my second in command!" he exclaimed. "Don't you just love the colors, Fidget? Stripes are definitely your style! The scarf matches your hat."

"It's a wonderful present, boss," I lied. "Thank you."

I put on the scarf. It wasn't as much out of gratitude as it was out of fear for my life. I knew Ratigan's kindness wouldn't last forever, so I tried not to offend him in any manner.

"We celebrated Christmas here together a day early so you can all spend tomorrow with your families and friends," the professor explained.

I can honestly say that was the best Christmas I ever spent as one of Ratigan's henchmen. In a strange twist of irony, that was also the last Christmas we ever spent together.


	8. June 22, 1898

**June 22, 1898**

Ratigan's Christmas spirit wore off three days before January 1, 1897, and he returned to his criminal ways, changing the location of his secret lair and moving to a different home in the process. Everyone knows about the Flaversham Failure, Ratigan's final scheme. The day after Bartholomew was eaten by Felicia, the professor suffered the same fate. Basil even rang the bell for him, even though neither of them knew the cat was anywhere near Big Ben, where they had been fighting at the time.

After nearly being killed by the royal guard dogs, Felicia decided to reform her life. She now lives with human friends, and she looks a lot different than she did. She's very slender now due to proper diet and exercise, and she's actually kind of pretty…for a cat, that is. In fact, she doesn't even eat smaller animals anymore. Now she's very docile, and not at all pampered and lazy like she used to be. Felicia even became best friends with Toby.

The boss tried to drown me only a few minutes before he and Basil fought on Big Ben. Someone in a boat noticed my fall from Ratigan's flying machine and saved my life. I never found out my hero's name, even though I asked after I expressed gratitude. I also never found out why anyone would be boating on the Thames at that time of night on the evening the queen was celebrating her Diamond Jubilee, but to be honest, I didn't really care at the time.

My near death experience convinced me that I needed to rethink my life. Almost being drowned had happened only hours after nearly being eaten. I began to think maybe being a criminal wasn't such a good idea, and I went into hiding to avoid being taken to jail.

After several weeks, I started a sort of unofficial school, teaching young bats how to fly even though I could no longer use my wings properly. The pay wasn't that good, but at least I was earning some form of income. By the time the police found me, I had a reputable job and was showing every sign of being a good citizen. That and my mental capacity, which is not half as limited as I pretend, saved me from apprehension. They believed I was incompetent and had only been following Ratigan's orders, so having me stand trial would be an unnecessary headache. I didn't contradict them, and I didn't commit any more crimes, so the problem was solved.

Some of Ratigan's former henchmen reformed, but most of them went to jail and are in prison as we speak. Bill should get out in about twenty years. Lewis and Henry should get out in fifty. Robert got smart. He agreed to confess everything about himself and everyone else if he would get less time in prison. He'll be free in five years.

The demises, reformations, and arrests all happened a year ago today. Life can certainly change a lot in a year. After what happened in late June of 1897, I wasn't expecting to get my wing repaired in late December of the same year, but I did. Just as Basil's assistant promised, the operation was successful. Words cannot express how wonderful it is to be able to fly again.

Last week Basil was feeling depressed. "I keep taking cases, but what good is it? There's so much crime that I seriously doubt I'm making any sort of difference at all!"

Dawson asked my advice. "You used to be an assistant. You know what an associate should do to cheer up his partner."

I had the perfect idea. Yesterday the police escorted the prisoners, Ratigan's former henchmen, to where I was waiting with the guard who was my host in late December of 1896. He and his wife had brought their baby. After we waited for several minutes, Felicia and Toby showed up. At the appointed time, Dawson arrived with Basil.

"Mr. Basil," I began, "Dr. Dawson says you're unhappy. He says you don't think you're making a difference. Look around you. On June 21, 1897, Ratigan's gang was plotting treason, and the empire was in danger. Today is June 21, 1898. We're all that's left."

"That's right, Basil," added Dawson. "Ratigan had the most powerful ring of criminals in Mousedom. Now where are they? As you can see, they've either gone to prison or reformed. You stopped them. This guard and his wife used to be forced to work for Ratigan, but you saved their lives and helped them improve their lifestyle years ago, and now because of you, they've found happiness together. They would never have had the chance to be married and have their own baby if you hadn't made a difference."

"And Felicia!" I put in. "Everybody was afraid of her! She was responsible for a lot of mysterious disappearances, but she's harmless now!"

Felicia was very gingerly stroking the baby mouse. She was not admiring it the way someone admires a tender morsel; she was gazing at the infant the same way she might gaze at a kitten. I understood why. Before Bartholomew became an alcoholic and Felicia's heart hardened, the two of them were best friends, almost like brother and sister. This baby mouse was Bartholomew's little niece or nephew, and Felicia was already starting to think of herself as the infant's aunt.

Basil smiled. "Heaven bless you all for coming out here. I appreciate you giving me this talk."

"You're welcome!" I answered. "God bless us, every one."


End file.
